Over Hills And Valleys
Hills and Vales
By: Juliet Stewart-Austin
As I sit upon the trunk of a tree long dead;
hidden among the banana, and apple trees,
watching the blue, gray skies from atop the mountain region.
Overshadowed by the early morning mist,
I inhale deeply, could life get any more perfect?
The Almond, and jackfruit tree by the road.
The old, dilapidated bamboo club at the bottom of the hill,
cherished memories of Childhood held.
I walked the trail where, as a Child, I sat and read.
The jimbilin tree no longer there.
I envision the hummingbirds sipping
from the nectar of the sweet miniature yellow roses
that would cling to the side of the old wooden structure
that used to make up my home.
I hear the familiar call of passersby,
"aawhoo." Inveigling a response that comes easily to my lips.
I glance over my shoulder expecting to see the generation of People
that have walked this very path to freedom.
The Hill People, now long dead.
Their memories now walk the trail
that hidden away by thick foliage.
The fruits in variety; not seen or sampled
by those who have never traveled the untapped Countryside of Jamaica.
Jimbilin- a tart tangy fruit
A sigh of contentment escapes my lips.
I see my Grandmothers People.
They range in color from white to crème,
to chocolate and deep dark overtones, black.
The thread of humanity that binds us with love, and some with hate.
This is my Heritage, my home.
My History, and my story to tell,
the smoke colored blue-green hills,
and lush green valleys holds familiar secrets.
An innocence amidst the poverty.